I couldn’t watch the
clinching game of the 2013 World Series with my kids and nephews so I did the
next best thing and started a group text with all of them. As our collective
excitement grew there was a liberal use of “Fuck”.
Fortunately, my dad
doesn’t text and my brother in-law Gil, who is also a huge baseball fan wasn’t
in the text group either.
As my son Brandon
started to send a text that contained “Fuck” his phone auto-corrected fuck to
Gil. When he sent us a text explaining what had happened we exchanged a
plethora of texts like “Gil that” or “no Gilling way!”
Fuck is almost always
used as a way to express great joy or positive excitement in our family.
I first became
proficient at using fuck to express myself back in 1965 at the age of six. No
need to explain why but basically I was a pissed off, frustrated little boy who learned that by using words like fuck, asshole and shit on the school bus I
could make the other kids laugh.
Each day I would walk
from the back of the bus swearing just loud enough so that several of the kids
could hear and they would always laugh as I got off the bus. The reaction
simply made me feel good and cool.
The bus driver was
Curly Littlefield, a short, bald and very nice man who everyone liked. One day
as we were driving home from school the kids on the bus were being loud and
boisterous. Curly pulled the bus over, stood up and proceeded to yell at us all
and warned us not to make any more noise.
As we proceeded to
the next stop, which happened to be mine, my internal anger was growing. I didn’t
feel that Curly had been fair and I didn’t like it.
This was about to
become a defining moment for me and when I juxtapose it to 1965, small town
America and the fact that my dad was the town manager it makes me laugh even
more.
This time, as I moved
to the front of the bus, I didn’t swear going up the aisle. I moved quickly and
angrily past Curly and as my foot hit the pavement everything turned to slow
motion.
I took one step away
from the bus, turned raising my right hand in the air, with my middle finger
extended and yelled “FUCK YOU!!!”……… As soon as the words expelled from my
mouth I knew I was in big trouble.
Curly wasn’t a
particularly nimble man but in that moment he exhibited the speed and agility
of a bus-driving athlete on steroids. I actually think he took one step as he
stood up and propelled his cherubic body into the air and down the steps of the
bus. How he didn’t hit the sides of the narrow opening I’ll never know.
Years later I
remember seeing the iconic cartoon of a mouse giving the finger to an eagle as
it swooped down to eat him. I felt that defiance in the moment that I yelled
“FUCK YOU!!! But by the time Curly hit the ground, inches in front of me and
began his red faced yelling, I suddenly became a very small six year-old who
knew he was in big trouble.
Curly knew my dad was
the town manager and he told me he was going to contact him immediately and
tell him what I had done. Of course there were no cell phones so Curly had to
contact dad after he was finished with his bus route.
I slowly made the
long walk home deciding that the best thing for me to do was to pack my bags
and run away. Like a hobo, I went home,
got a stick and a blanket to wrap my clothes in and carry over my shoulder.
Before I could make in out the door my father pulled into the driveway in his Ford
station wagon.
He was remarkably
calm and restrained as he asked me what happened and what I said. You see, dad
never swore around the house when I was a kid so I certainly didn’t learn those
words from him. I do think he asked me where I learned to talk like that and
I’m not sure what my response was.
What I do remember is
him saying something like “This is going to hurt me more than it is going to
hurt you.”, as he proceeded to pull down my pants and wail on my naked, little
ass.
It definitely hurt me
more them him!
The next day I had to
apologize to Curly. That also scared the crap out of me but he was fine and I
certainly stopped swearing on the bus.
However, my swearing
never stopped or truly subsided. If fact, because I can be stubborn, and in my
younger years, angry, I used “Fuck!!” more often as a way to express anger.
What I found over and
over again is that using “Fuck!!” in anger never lead to anything positive. I
didn’t blame it on “Fuck” itself because I felt that “fuck” was such a quick
and effective way of expressing deep emotion.
In the 48 years since
I yelled, “Fuck you!” to Curly I have
accomplished many things. My greatest accomplishment has been to be a terrific,
kind and deeply emotional father.
As game six of the
World Series ended and the string of 189 text messages containing a lot of fuck
and Gil in place of fuck I signed off by texting, “The coolest part for me was
being able to share this with you. Gilling Awesome!”
Dad might still want
to spank me but it won’t change a fucking thing.
